Nothing
by The-edge-of-reason
Summary: When he started talking about my eyes. It was really something.


**AN: Hey Guys, first story for a little while; whoo! I know it's a little weird and the formatting is odd but I was experimenting and don't mind actually how it came out. Let me know what you think? If you hate it, even that feedback is useful too :)**

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When he started talking about my eyes.

The description was beautiful, poetic, effortless. I was not under any doubt the words were his own, straight from the heart. Yet I had never heard my eyes described as such; crystalline, sapphire, deep. Shining in the moonlight and speaking volumes of my emotions. It was really something; delicate and fragile and beautiful. That moment talking about my eyes.

Except for one small detail. My eyes are brown. And I knew, just knew this wouldn't work. Sitting here all dressed up with a date who's blind drunk and speaking beautiful words about eyes which aren't mine but should be. It couldn't, because, even drunk he should've known what colour my eyes are. He was, at one time, everything. And I was everything. And together we were everything.

But that was a lifetime ago, or a month, and that's why I'm here at 2 o'clock in the morning. In the same dress from an hour ago sans the sloppy drunk mess that was once so vital to me. I paid the cab driver $20 to take him 2 blocks away, to ensure that the blue eyed beauty got her wasted roommate back in one piece. I walked. Yeah from potters grove, all the way to your house, you'd tell me, I'm sure, that I was lucky to make it. But I don't know, I haven't knocked yet. Yet, like its obvious I will eventually. I would've before, or called you red faced and crying at 1 am to pick me up and take me for coffee at that 24 hour place and listen while I mourn what I wanted that was never mine to begin with. But I did that already, on the walk over, and you never really were the comforting type, though you'd try, in your defence.

I'm a little cold and it's 2:45 and I'm still standing outside. It would be so easy to take those 2 steps and walk less than 3 paces to the door, I'd not have to knock very hard, and you'd answer the door in your trackies and not much else, with your eyes like; what the bloody hell do you want?

And it would all be so familiar and yet here's where I'd get stuck, because, and this is the plot twist; you then might proceed to slam the door in my face.

I've never been too averse to all or nothing, until times like these where I've chosen the wrong all and ended with nothing. And hindsight is no good when it's me and you because we've always been fragile anyway. And it was inevitable and I'm still here and you, you're so stubborn. And maybe it's not just eyes that aren't mine and maybe it's eyes that aren't his and maybe somehow he's too kind and good and awful at holding his liquor. And maybe he doesn't have raven hair and onyx eyes and a smirk which could drive the devil crazy and a smile which melts me more. And maybe he's just not you. And it's 3 am, it's cold and I'm heartbroken, and it's not even over the right guy. I'm confused and frustrated and I seem to be feeling everything and nothing at once.

And it's the feeling of nothing that makes me turn around. Because that's what you are, you're a black hole. And that's what I am, and I am, pure abyss. And together we'd be nothing and that, if you'd ever ask, is why it was him and not you. Not because he was better or perfect or everything, he just wasn't nothing and anyway I could never be anything for you. And it's 3:20 am and I'm tired and conflicted and still standing outside. And I feel nothing so I guess I'm ok and I begin to walk.

And I fall down the stairs and when did I actually climb them in the first place? And I sit there.

I'm broken. I just want it to be last summer when everyday was you and me, wasting time and having the best. Or last spring when it was you and me laughing about all the hopeless pathetic little people in 'love'. Or last anything because its all me and you and I'm nothing without that.

And it's raining now and it's 4 am and I've been here for 2 hours and maybe I'll see the sunrise and you'll be just there and close enough to touch, almost, and too far away.

And I close my eyes for a minute, and it's not raining anymore and I have to face up to the fact that I'm crying and it's not the rain running down my face.

And the sky is calling me an idiot and I've finally lost my mind. I've been driven mad and somehow it's all your fault.

But it's not and I know that and I am an idiot. It's well past time to face the day and my decisions and stop sitting in a puddle in front of my best friends house. So I heave myself up and open my eyes and it's not at all what I thought I'd see.

It's sunrise, and suddenly I realise I hadn't been feeling properly or seeing properly, because its blood on my knees and a ripped red dress and the sound of raindrops. But more importantly, it's you, with your trackie pants and your onyx eyes and you're nothingness, and you're holding an umbrella but your standing in the pouring rain like an idiot. And you're giving me a look like; what the bloody hell do you want? But not quite. And I almost think I see something more like; you came back?

And I'm delirious because I've started hallucinating because you can't actually be here. And I'm obviously crazy because next minute we're both on the ground, the umbrella is somewhere or more importantly nowhere and now we're both soaking wet and I'm hugging you.

And you call me an idiot again, but it doesn't sound like an insult. And I missed you, and I tell you that I missed you because I missed you. And you almost smile. But of course you have to ask; what about him.

And you wait like I'm going to start wailing and pining over him. And I shouldn't think it but I love that it looks like that hurts. Because suddenly I'm looking into the right eyes and I know that you know my eyes are brown and I know you'd never tell me beautiful lies about their colour (because eyes are eyes and even blue is just a colour).

I'm still just nothing and you're still nothing so I kiss you and I don't feel nothing.

You're kissing me back, and I'm holding you just a little too tightly and you've got my hair in a grip which is a little too strong to be sweet. And I don't care and you're all danger and no restraint and a little too broken to be perfect. And we're gasping for air and I tell you that we aren't good for eachother because I'm thinking it. And you do smile this time and laugh and tell me you knew that already and when was I going to get to the part where I understood that that's why we're perfect. And you are right, of course, because its a little wrong and we drive eachother mad and you're so stubborn and I'm so stupid, and together we're nothing, but before I guess I never got to the part where I realised that _nothing_ is the _only thing_ that lasts _forever_.


End file.
